


Moved On

by Doesyourmotherknowyoureanon



Category: Genny in a Bottle Series-Kristen Kemp
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-15
Updated: 2014-11-15
Packaged: 2018-02-21 19:32:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2479850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doesyourmotherknowyoureanon/pseuds/Doesyourmotherknowyoureanon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Genny visits her clients from 2000. A series of six drabbles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Moved On

**Author's Note:**

> Okay with: translations and podifcs. Please just ask my permission first, and link me when you're done!
> 
> Not okay with: having my fic used in articles about fans or fandom.

Genny looked up from her computer. “I wonder how all my 2000 kids are doing,” she said out loud. Catfish sniffed loudly and jumped off her bed. She looked up their names on facebook. The Genie Council wouldn’t let her have one, but she’ll be darned if they wouldn’t let her search. Genny patted her bottle. “Throttle, can you take us to find them?” she asked. Throttle didn’t reply, but she felt a slight lurch as the bottle changed directions and sped up. Genny walked to her closet to pick out an outfit, bobbing her head to a new song.

*****

Nadia’s office was covered in photographs. Pictures of children receiving school supplies, working at their desks, sitting in a semicircle on the floor with Nadia, in a black leather jacket. Her computer was password protected, so Genny read the dead-tree memos instead. This school needs art supplies, this one needs textbooks, until Genny’s head swam. She opened Nadia’s drawer to find it stuffed with thank-yous, folded over pieces of paper signed by thirty-odd kids with awkward handwriting. The drawer bottom had a permanent layer of glitter. Genny made her own, signed it ‘G’ and asked Throttle for the next stop.

*****

Molly and Marina’s boutique was closed for the night. Throttle used his bottle magic to slip in. Their work table was covered with frilly, beaded designs, half sewn clothes, and matching copies of What to Expect when You’re Expecting. _Of course they would even get pregnant at the same time_ , thought Genny fondly. She sat down at the workbench and finished the dress closest to her, a pale blue maternity dress with an asymmetrical hemline. She folded the dress neatly and wondered if they still had their old clubhouse. A minute or two more of against-her-nature tidying, and she left.

*****

Genny hadn’t listened to Berlioz since she saw him conduct live, but for Sophie, she’d abandon her Madonna for one night. She propped Throttle behind the backstage curtain and sat next to a stagehand who couldn’t see her. Sophie’s visible confidence was gratifying, but not as much as seeing Jessica in the front row, even if she was in sweats. Genny let the music wash over her in a way she hadn’t since forever. At the end, she applauded so loud, she half-expected Sophie to look over at her. But Sophie would never see her again, despite Genny’s dearest wishes.

*****

Andrew’s laboratory smelled disgusting, even late at night. Genny pinched her nose as she wandered through, careful not to knock anything over. Whatever he was working on, it involved lots of chemicals with warning labels and a large freezer. She even saw a safety shower in the lab. She smiled when she saw an expensive pair of athletic sneakers in the hallway. What would he do if he saw me now, she thought. On a whiteboard, she drew Catfish holding a q-tip across the bottom, not reckless enough to draw herself. That way, he’d only get it if he remembered.

*****

Throttle was floating in the shallows of the Gulf of Mexico, judging by temperature inside the bottle. Genny took off the dress nobody could see her in and slid into the nightgown nobody could see her in. She curled up on the mattress she finally had replaced and thought about herself in their places. Seen, heard, accomplished. But she was still thirteen, despite all her sneaked human days. Thoughts of retirement rolled in her head, but she dismissed them quickly. Instead, she said “Throttle, I think I want a new client. Contact the council for me?” And she moved on.

**Author's Note:**

> I just wrote this to get over writers' block and insomnia. It is unbeta', unedited, and posted on impulse. Concrit is always welcome.


End file.
